


Out of the Darkness

by seki



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Comfort Sex, F/M, M/M, endgame spoilers, spoilers for the whole thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 05:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9109036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seki/pseuds/seki
Summary: Noctis takes some comfort where he can, while he can, and hopes he'll be forgiven.Spoilers for all of the game.





	

Sex is a thought that's occupied Noctis's mind on a fairly regularly basis since he hit puberty. He figures, however, that in the greater scheme of things, that stuff is all figured out for him already. He's engaged, to a girl he's pretty sure he already loves, and that means a wedding night at some point. He can wait for that night. Luna is expected to, after all, and Noctis can't see why the rules should be different for him.

Knowing that doesn't stop him _thinking_ , though, often about people that aren't his future wife. He tells himself Luna'll never know what he fantasises about, though he's not sure that's true. It's possible she can read his mind. She's the Oracle, and even if she can't, maybe Gentiana can, and that amounts to the same thing. But she's also kind, and she'd understand. Probably.

The last time he fantasises about sex is in Altissia, in the privacy of the bedroom he gets to himself in the Royal Suite. Real privacy is such a novelty that he takes his time over it. A whole cast of characters are involved. It's quite the production; gets him going enough that he goes for a second run at it when his body allows.

It's the last time that sex feels like a priority. After Leviathan, it's as if that part of him gets switched off entirely. Grief and guilt are numbing, and his body only barely reminds Noctis to _eat_ , let alone think of sex. He's exhausted, when he's not overwrought.

Things happen. And suddenly he's alive and _feels_ alive, however briefly, in a body that feels unfamiliar when he gets the chance to pay attention to it. He's going to die, of course. He agreed to that. He's resigned to that. But it makes right now precious, makes him want to cling to everything that matters to him. 

He tries to tell his friends how he feels. He says to them, over the fire, that being with them is more than he can take, knowing it's the last time. There are tears. It's cathartic. It's funny. He's hated each of them a bit, at times; Prompto for whining and for cheerfulness, Gladio for his unachievable _goals_ that Noctis can't possibly live up to, Ignis for nagging and chiding and worrying in a way that makes Noctis cringe with guilt sometimes. But he also means it, when he tells them they're the best.

When they finally retire to their tent, Noctis lies awake. His brain churns with the closest thing he's had to a fantasy in… well. Ten years, apparently. It's not sex, that's not what he's craving, not really. It's that he's so, so desperately scared. What he wants, more than anything else, is for someone to just _hold_ him in their arms. Comfort, not desire. To feel like someone cares enough to just touch him, one last time.

Prompto? If Noctis rolled over and whispered into his ear, Prompto would look surprised, then pull him into a cuddle, maybe stroke his head and would chatter lightheartedly in an attempt to distract Noctis. Maybe he'd tell Noctis about Iris, or Cindy, or Aranea, or some other girl. No. Noctis doesn't want to be distracted, he wants to be comforted, and that's not what Prompto will give him.

Gladio? No. Gladio might, gruffly, put his arm around Noctis, but he'd probably take a dig at Noctis for needing the affection. Or maybe this Gladio wouldn't; this Gladio seems to have a little more tact than the one Noctis remembers. Noctis considers it, for a while, and then shakes his head. No. Not Gladio.

And then there's Ignis. He would tell Noctis that it was inappropriate in a king, and then probably make some terrible pun in his discomfort at the whole notion. And then he'd hug Noctis, stiffly, until it made Noctis feel bad for asking.

Noctis snorts, under his breath. It's a stupid thing to want, anyway. He's lived this long without bedtime hugs.

Still, the _loneliness_ eats away at him, until he sleeps.

Gladio gets up first. It's dark all the time now, so Noctis isn't sure what the time is, but his bones tell him it's earlier than can be reasonable. Noctis hears him take a phone call, just outside the tent, and then Prompto follows Gladio out of the tent as soon as he hears Iris's name mentioned.

Gladio sticks his head back inside the tent, a few minutes later, letting a sliver of campfire light fall across Noctis's bed. "Hey, your Highness. Awake?"

"Just barely."

"Iris says there's a big daemon blocking the exit at Hammerhead. Prompto and I are gonna go deal with it -- we'll let you get your beauty sleep."

Ignis, across the tent, sits up. "Need our help?"

"No, you better stay here." Gladio grins, his teeth glinting. "Get Noct to help you with breakfast."

"Very well." Ignis lies down again. "Tell us when you're on your way back."

"Will do."

Gladio pulls the zip down on the outside of the tent, and Noctis lets himself sink back into sleep. When he resurfaces, Ignis is midway through quietly opening the tent again.

"You're awake," he says, pausing. "Did I wake--?"

"No." Noctis blinks, trying to clear his eyesight. "You're leaving?"

Ignis's hand on the zip is unmoving. "Would you rather I stayed?"

It's an odd question, and Noctis is groggy with sleep and the leftover shreds of the previous night's urgings. It feels like a fantasy -- although Noctis has only fantasised about _Ignis_ a few times, say, a dozen, two dozen at most -- and so Noctis assumes that he's just half-asleep and none of this is real. Noctis extends a hand towards Ignis and says, "Please. Come here."

Ignis pulls the zip down, closing the tent, and then in the darkness Noctis sees the darker silhouette of him move closer. There's a faint light source in the tent, somewhere, perhaps on some electronic device, giving out a green glow. Noctis sees the pin-point brightness reflected in a tiny flash on Ignis's glasses, as Ignis kneels by his side.

Noctis sits up, and, in his dreamlike state, reaches out and touches Ignis, on the burned section just beneath his right lens. "Why do you wear these?" he asks.

"Habit," Ignis says, his voice steady.

Noctis smiles.

"And… vanity," Ignis adds. "They hide some of the scars."

"They're different from the ones you wore, just after," Noctis says, and then he lets his fingers curl around the armpiece. "And you don't keep your eyes closed any more."

"No." Ignis lets out a tiny sigh, as Noctis pulls the glasses off. "There's no point to doing so."

Noctis folds the glasses, and places them to one side. It's too dark for him to see Ignis's face properly, so he reaches out again and lets his fingers trail down over the scar on Ignis's face that covers half his eye. It didn't heal very well, he thinks, the texture very rough under his fingers.

Ignis's fingers close around his, and pull his hand away. "Noct."

That's familiar from those few fantasies too, and so Noctis clasps Ignis's hand, follows the thread of what he would do in his fantasies, and leans forward to press a kiss onto Ignis's lips.

Ignis yanks his head back, and _shoves_ Noctis away. "Noctis!"

It's a cold, mortifying thing to wake the rest of the way up all at once and realise what he's just done, like a wash of ice water down his spine. "Shit. Crap. Sorry."

" _Ask_ before you do a thing like that," Ignis adds, sounding grumpy but not angry, and the spike of panic in Noctis's heart melts down instantly to a mere splinter. "And consider shaving first."

Noctis lifts a hand to his own chin, rubs along the beard that's grown there. It's not _rough_ , really. It's softer than stubble would be. "Is that what it'd take?" he asks, rueful.

His vision is adapting slowly to the light levels; he can see Ignis shake his head, then pause as if considering. "No. I'm at your service, Noct. Always."

"I'm not… I don't want this to be _service_."

He feels Ignis's hand grasp for his, clumsily. "What _do_ you want?"

"...a hug would be nice."

Ignis is, Noctis thinks a few moments later, surprisingly good at this. He pulls Noctis in tight, his arms firm around Noctis's torso, his head tilted so it rests against Noctis's. It's not stiff or awkward at all. "Like this?"

"Yes." Noctis lets himself relax into it. God. It's perfect, exactly the comfort he needs right now. When was the last time anyone just hugged him? Noctis listens to the sound of Ignis's breathing; slow and even, as if cuddling royalty is perfectly commonplace for him.

"Why'd you let your hair grow so long?" he asks, because that hair is tickling his ear.

"Prompto assures me it looks fine as it is," Ignis says, sounding unruffled. "And your hair is… different, too."

"No hairgel where I was."

Ignis's hand moves up, caresses the side of Noctis's head, from temple down to jaw. "I suppose you look rather like your father, now."

"I suppose I do." Enough that looking in a mirror at Hammerhead had given Noctis a hell of a shock. "Even got a few wrinkles. Didn't think I'd look this old at thirty."

There's a pause, and then Ignis shifts, and presses his lips to Noctis's cheek in a brief kiss. "I can't imagine it. You sound entirely yourself, to me."

"I don't _feel_ myself," Noctis says. "I feel--"

This time Ignis's lips land on Noctis's mouth, and Noctis lets himself get lost in what follows: a kiss that deepens quickly from gentle movements into open-mouthed wet motions of tongue on tongue, Ignis's hand threaded into Noctis's hair, his other hand sliding around to press flat against Noctis's chest. Noctis allows himself to slip back into his fantasy narrative, just enough to grant him the confidence to lift one hand to Ignis's collar to grip it and keep him where he is.

It's a long time before they come up for air properly. Noctis's pulse is racing, and Ignis is breathing heavily.

Oddly, Noctis doesn't feel _aroused_ , though his cock is certainly fully awakened. He feels, instead, _settled_ in a way he hasn't since he woke up on Angelguard. It's as if the kiss has anchored him.

"Noct," Ignis says. His voice is smoky-deep, and that sparks a flutter of _desire_ in Noctis that the kiss didn't. "Do you want--"

Noctis swallows, and admits, "I'm not sure."

"Ah."

Noctis grabs for Ignis's hands. "Can we… talk for a while?"

"Certainly."

He pulls Ignis down to lie next to him, both of them crowding Noctis's sleepmat this time, one of Ignis's arms underneath Noctis's shoulder. Noctis faces Ignis, squinting at him, trying to read what he can see of Ignis's expression in the darkness. Is he frustrated? Relieved?

Ignis clears his throat, after the silence stretches out far enough to become uncomfortable. "Noct? How long did it feel like, for you?"

"Ten years," Noctis says, and then he sighs. "And barely any time at all, too. It feels like a dream. Ten seconds, ten years. In a flash."

"As I thought."

"You did?"

Ignis nods, slowly. "You're… eager. Desperate, even. You wish to reclaim your throne today, as if it cannot hold a moment longer."

There's another silence. Noctis can't see what Ignis is getting at, and then he can: oh. Ten years. To them, what difference would it make if Noctis waited a week, a month, before going to Insomnia? But he can't dawdle, can't take a vacation before he confronts Ardyn. That's not the trade he made with his ancestors.

"Did you--" _miss me_ , Noctis nearly asks, and then can't bring himself to.

"We knew you'd come back."

Despite the dimness, Noctis can see the absolute confidence on Ignis's face. "You did?"

"We could access your powers. It was reassuring."

Of course. Noctis smiles, and then thinks, well, no, not of course. For all he knew, in his half-suspended state, those powers might have been locked. It's good that they weren't.

Ignis reaches a hand up, and strokes down the line of Noctis's jaw with the back of a finger. "And you're here. Very much alive."

His voice has gone down into that smoky-sounding purr again, and combined with the caress it's enough to make Noctis close the gap between them. This time he anticipates Ignis's questions, and forestalls them by moving Ignis's hands to his collar and then, later, to his belt.

Undressing is slow, this way, Noctis letting his world shrink down to touch and sound alone. He closes his eyes; if Ignis can't see, then Noctis won't either, will just inhabit his skin as Ignis caresses him. Ignis's hands are confident, which helps; it makes the need feel mutual, banishes the fear that Ignis is just doing this to make Noctis happy. Every touch feels magnified, sends little shivers through him that don't feel like _fantasy_ any more. He fumbles to get Ignis's clothes off, lets Ignis take over that task, kisses Ignis determinedly and traces the hundreds of scar lines that criss-cross Ignis's skin.

Noctis is aware, as Ignis touches him, that his body isn't how it used to be. Thinner, leaner -- the muscles he used to wish were more prominent now _are_. He wonders if it's different to what Ignis expected. If Ignis _had_ expectations. Ignis is older, too, of course, but he's always been so buttoned-up and mature that somehow it feels right on him. Only the scars feel wrong to Noctis, too many of them. Would there be fewer, if Noctis had come back sooner?

It takes a while before either of them moves things up a gear, but it's Noctis who does so first. It's a surprise that Ignis is _hard_ , that this Ignis is _wanton_ , because Ignis has always seemed so reserved and this Ignis is anything but. This Ignis makes noises that Noctis would never have expected from him; soft, pleading words, urgent grunts. It doesn't take long before he reaches for Noctis in return, and Noctis guides his hand so that they can work at this task together. 

It's bliss, while it lasts; everything that isn't _this_ fading to a shadow in the back of Noctis's mind, only spiralling pleasure and the harsh sound of their combined breathing to think about. Noctis lets Ignis set the pace, and follows it as best he can. In the end, he reaches his completion within a few heartbeats of Ignis's, because hearing Ignis lose his composure completely and become reduced to gasps and whimpers is _incredibly_ hot. Crap, he thinks, immediately afterwards. He'd never factored _that_ into his fantasies before, and now he's never going to get the chance to do so again. The fleeting thought makes tears spark in his eyes, and he blinks them away, desperately. No. Come _on_. He's not going to cry the first time he has sex with someone, that's just ridiculous.

Ignis pulls him close, almost as if he can tell Noctis is welling up, and he presses a kiss to Noctis's forehead before tucking Noctis's head under his chin.

"Thanks," Noctis says, quietly, and he _is_ thankful, but the words seem wrong when they come out, and he frowns. "I mean. I--"

"I understand." Ignis is different somehow. _Relaxed_. Is that because of the sex, or is it because this older Ignis has learned to relax sometimes? Maybe it doesn't matter.

It takes a surprisingly long time before Noctis can't bear the _stickiness_ any longer. "Yech, though. I'm gonna, uh. Wash, somehow, I guess?" 

"Good idea," Ignis dips his head, to nudge a kiss at the corner of Noctis's mouth. "There's a pool not far from here, is there not?"

He hands back Ignis's glasses, and then retrieves clothing from where it was hastily shoved earlier. They get dressed enough to go to the stream that feeds the pond, the worst of… well, the _mess_ wiped up in a dishcloth that Ignis gives Noctis a faint, half-hearted glare for choosing. The pond is cold, colder than Noctis thinks it should be. No sunlight, no warmth in the world, he thinks, splashing water over himself. He spares a glance at the dock, wondering if any fish have survived this endless night. Fish live in caves, after all, Noctis thinks. It's not ridiculous. But no, fishes that lived aboveground wouldn't have been adapted to the darkness. An empty pond. What a miserable thought. 

Ignis, behind him, puts a hand on his arm. "Noct? We should head back to camp."

He's right, they should. And once Gladio and Prompto return to camp, this whole thing will be… private, Noctis thinks. Not quite a secret, but not something to share. Maybe, one day, Ignis will tell the others. That will be his choice, and it's one Noctis is happy to leave to him.

Noctis turns, and claims one last kiss, just to savor the last shreds of intimacy for a moment longer. It's soft, lingering, all the things he could want from a kiss that's as much goodbye as anything else. Ignis's fingers move over his face, afterwards, a gentle glide over Noctis's eyes and cheeks and lips, and then Ignis sighs, and steps back. He pushes his glasses back up his nose, and that's it, the switching point. It's over.

By the time Gladio and Prompto get back, Noctis is slumped in his camping chair, watching Ignis fold beaten eggs on the camping stove. He can't quite believe that what happened _did_ happen, and yet he keeps being assaulted by sense-memories of Ignis's hands and lips.

"Trouble taken care of?" Ignis asks Gladio.

"Yup."

Ignis moves the pan from the stove to the table. "And just in time for breakfast."

Prompto sets the table, as he always used to. Gladio pours out water from a big bottle; that's new, a precaution that Noctis understands even as he wishes it wasn't necessary. He watches the scene, a little ember of nostalgia alight in his breast. These guys. He wouldn't be here without them. But he's told them that already. No point in getting everyone all emotional over it again.

Ignis plates up the food, then turns his head towards Noctis as the other two sit down. He puts down the plate in his hand, walks over to Noctis, and leans down, and asks, "no appetite, Noct?"

"Feels wrong, eating before dawn."

"You'll starve if you think like that." Ignis puts out a hand, onto Noctis's shoulder, and squeezes. "Come on. Don't let my hard-earned cooking skills go to waste."

Noctis stands, and Ignis's hand moves too, a gentle slide down Noctis's arm to catch his hand.

"Courage, Noct. No turning back," Ignis adds, very quietly, and then lets go.

"Right. You're right."

They eat, and then walk, and then they pick their way through the ruined landscape of what used to be Insomnia.

It's eerie. The citadel looks unscathed, and some of the buildings are too. Gladio talks about salvage, about repopulating from the people currently filling Lestallum to what sounds like breaking point. Prompto keeps his eye out for daemons, which should be an easy task with them all around, except that his advice stops Noctis from running headlong into a group of Nagaranis.

Ignis is the one who finds the first safe-room. They don't sleep there, just pause long enough to catch their breath and for Noctis to wipe daemon gore from his face. That's all Noctis thinks he needs. He can't spare time for more, he just _can't_. In the back of his head he hears an echo of Bahamut urging him to take his throne, spurring him to keep moving.

By the time they find the second safe-room, Noctis's opinion has changed. The gods can damn well wait. Everyone can wait. Noctis is done for a while. He bolts the door, slams on the exterior lights that keep the daemons from approaching it, and stands with his arms out across the door.

The others look at him, and at the two bunk-beds, then at each other.

"Well, I could sure use a bit of shuteye," Prompto says, cheerfully, and clambers up a ladder to the top bunk. "Wake me if there's food."

"Nap first, eat later," Gladio says, and he climbs the other ladder.

Ignis sits down in the bunk beneath Gladio. He's looking towards Noctis, and when he does that Noctis finds it really weird to think that he can't actually see Noctis at all. Or can he? Maybe he can make out Noctis's silhouette, black against the white door.

"Sorry," Noctis says, to all of them, really. "I just… I--"

"A rest will do us all a world of good," Ignis says. "Including you."

Noctis crosses to the remaining bunk. He's tempted to ask someone to set an alarm. It's not needed; he wakes up, suddenly and completely, a few hours later, with the rumbling sound of the draconian echoing in his ears. Time to move on.

Ignis insists they eat something before heading back out. Snack food, to Noctis's surprise, not what Ignis used to consider real food. Dried fish, fried potato slices, pressed fruit bars. Nothing fortifying. But there's no stove here, and Noctis has the vague sense that fresh fruit and vegetables aren't easy to obtain any more.

As they eat, Prompto tells Noctis, quietly, that nobody's seen Wiz in years. "There're still some Chocobos, though. We got a stable set up, in Lestallum. Oh -- that black Chocobo? She's doing real well, fast enough to outrun most any daemons."

"Prompto has called her Aulea."

Noctis nearly drops his fruit bar.

"Yeah -- you don't mind, do you? I always liked the name."

"No. You go right ahead. Ride around on _my mother_."

Prompto giggles, but it's nervous, like he's really worried Noctis will be offended. Noctis claps him on the shoulder, as reassuringly as he can.

"It's fine, seriously. Glad she's doing well. You hunt from chocoboback, then?"

"Ah, sometimes." Prompto looks over at Gladio. "There're a few cars still, and of course _some_ people still prefer their own feet, but you use what you got."

"Not enough chocobos for all of us," Gladio says, easily. "And my own feet don't break down on the highways."

"The havens still work?"

"Some of them." Ignis runs his hand over the tabletop, sweeping all the crumbs and packaging off it and into the trashcan. "A few… the enchantments failed."

Noctis looks at Ignis's carefully blank expression, and decides not to ask what happened. Some things, he might not want to know.

Above ground, it's _still_ unnerving that there's no daylight. It makes Noctis feel like he slept for either no time or for a lot longer than he did. How do people cope, like this? Don't their body clocks go haywire?

The citadel gates appear out of the gloom ahead.

Noctis manages to _joke_ about Ifrit, and at first it seems like an easy task -- far easier than Titan, or Leviathan, especially once Bahamut comes to lend his many blades to the task -- except that _that_ seems to invigorate Ifrit, to -- aha -- inflame his rage and make him stronger. It's appalling. So close, and it feels like they might fall at this last hurdle. Ignis jokes about going out in a blaze, and it makes Noctis laugh, ugly laughter in the face of oblivion.

Of course it's Shiva who steps in. And there's overtones that puzzle Noctis -- were the Infernian and the Glacian lovers, at some distant point? He thinks he recalls that, from one of the old paintings in the citadel. But how did that work? Did they… cancel each other's powers out? And now they're both physically dead, will they be lovers again?

He straightens his spine. That's what's waiting for him afterwards, isn't it? Luna. If he's lucky.

What the _hell_ is she going to think about what he did with Ignis?

...ah, he'll find out when he finds out. No point worrying about it now.

They all join him in staring up at the sky. Black, unrelenting black. No stars. Are they up there, behind a cloud of particles?

He looks to his side, at Ignis.

"Can… can you see anything at all? You know, shapes?"

"I can sense light, a little."

"So you'll know when the sun rises." Noctis exhales. "That's good."

The relief in his voice seems to have an effect on them all. Prompto ducks his head, and kicks at a stone in the path. Gladio twists himself, looking away from Noctis and over his shoulder at the daemons grunting ahead of them.

Ignis's mouth twists into a smile, lopsided. He leans in, and he's close enough that this means his shoulder bumps against Noctis's. Comfort. Courage. No turning back.

Noctis looks up, at the tower. 

Destiny awaits.

**Author's Note:**

> Please be kind, I haven't written in a new fandom for a long time, but I love these boys too much not to try.


End file.
